


Malevolent

by ToAStranger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Merging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 19:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6128248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is not himself.  He is someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Malevolent

I am terrified by this dark thing  
that sleeps in me.    
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings.  It’s malignity.

                —           Sylvia Plath | _Elm_

* * *

 

He does not remember when it happened.  When the inky black in his chest began to consume his heart.  His insides.  His very being.

Or perhaps it is the other way around.  Maybe what was inside of him isn’t the infection.  Maybe it’s his own awareness of it.  His consciousness of it.  Of it’s thick, sticky heat.  Of how it churns in him.  Of how it flows through him.

Curiosity is a dangerous thing.  He keeps staring at his arms, thinking he can see it in the veins beneath his skin.  He wants to dig it out.  He’s too curious.

It lands him in a hospital.  It’s redder than he’d thought it would be—the oil under his skin, pumping through his heart.  It’s still caked under his nails.  The smell of copper is rank and heavy in the air, on his skin.  It clings to him.  The man at his bedside won’t stop crying.  He feels bad and hates it.

No one will listen.

In his chest, something turns over.  Something beats.  He thinks he might need to rip it out if he’s to survive.

* * *

 

“Please,” he whispers.

He’s not sure which he.  He’s not sure if there are two different entities anymore. 

Everything feel awful.  Breathing hurts.  He aches in ways he’s never known.  He keeps waking up with blood oozing out his ears, his nose, lingering at the back of his throat.  He’s stopped eating.

“ _Please_ ,” he whispers again.

“I’m sorry,” he replies and sobs, forehead pressed to the cool tile of the bathroom floor.  “I’m sorry.”

* * *

 

They have consumed one another.  There is no difference between them anymore.  No one knows what’s wrong.  No one but him.

His heart is no longer his own.

They don't know what is to come. 


End file.
